but do not be imprudent. Half-cures are fatal. Be careful not to leave
Churwalden too soon, for the descent into the heavy atmosphere of the
plains. Your physician, whom I have just seen, declares that, if you
hasten your return he will not answer for the consequences. Antoinette,
I am sure, will join her entreaties to ours. Do not let us see you
before the end of three weeks! Follow my orders, my dear professor,
and all will go well. Camille is about to leave; he has become
insupportable. He had the audacity to assert to me that I was a good
woman, but very credulous, which in my estimation is not very polite. He
no longer acts as a nephew, and respect is dead."

Ten days later M. Moriaz received at Churwalden a fourth and last
letter:

"September 6th.

"Decidedly my dear friend, Count Larinski is a delightful man, and I
never will pardon myself for having judged ill of him. The day before
yesterday I did not know the extent of his merit and of his virtues.
His beautiful soul is like a country where one passes from one pleasing
discovery to another, and at each step a new scene is revealed. Between
ourselves, Antoinette is a dreamer: where has she got the idea that this
man is in love with her? These Counts Larinski have artists' enthusiasm,
tender and sensitive hearts, and poetic imaginations; they love
everything, and they love nothing; they admire a pretty woman as they
admire a beautiful flower, a humming-bird, a picture of Titian's. Did
I tell you that the other day, as I was showing him through my park, he
almost fainted before my purple beech--which assuredly is a marvel? He
was in ecstasy; I truly believe there were tears in his eyes. I might
have supposed he was in love with my beech; yet he has not asked my
permission to marry it.

"Moreover, if he were up to his eyes in love with your daughter, have
no fear; he will not marry her, and this is the reason--Wait a little, I
must go further back.

"Abbe Miollens came to see me yesterday afternoon; he was distressed
that M. Larinski had not approved of his proposition.

"'The evil is not so great,' I said; 'let him go back to Vienna, where
all his acquaintances are; he will be happier there.'

"'The evil that I see in it,' he replied, 'is that he will be lost to
us forever. Vienna is so far away! Professor in London, only ten hours'
journey from Paris, he could cross the Channel sometimes, and we could
have our music together.'

"You can understand